


in comes the morning

by dahlstrom



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, M/M, honestly this is just silly cuteness, inspired by an imagine your otp post oops, strangers on a tram
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 23:13:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dahlstrom/pseuds/dahlstrom
Summary: How many random people do we encounter on a daily basis, and how many of them actually stick in our minds? For Isak, at least, the answer is close to zero, but this guy is an exception. His thoughts turn to him several times over the next few days, for no good reason at all except to enjoy the memory of seeing a person so handsome before eight in the morning. On Friday as he’s waiting for the tram, he’s wondering vaguely if he might see him again next Tuesday... and then the tram arrives, and Isak almost trips over his own feet when he sees the blond guy sitting in the exact same seat as before.





	in comes the morning

**Author's Note:**

> hello! soooo this is just a fun little alternate meeting fic. i needed inspiration so i looked through old 'imagine your OTP' posts and one that stood out to me was "sorry i accidentally fell in your lap on this crowded train AU" because dude, isak WOULD. and it grew from there. it didn't turn out quite as cute as it was in my head, but hopefully someone still enjoys it :)
> 
> title is from frank ocean's "skyline to" <3

If you asked him later, Isak would claim he didn’t remember the exact date he first saw him, but it would be a gigantic lie. It’s 27 August, a Tuesday, and he can pinpoint the time to between 07:40 and 07:45, though he secretly wishes he could narrow it down to the precise minute.

Being awake and on his way to a psychology lecture at such an ungodly hour is bad enough, but the 17 tram being _this fucking crowded_ makes it ten times worse. They’re crammed in like sardines and Isak seriously doubts the man wedged in on his left has showered this morning, or in fact for the last several days. He doesn’t even bother downplaying his grimace as he grips the straps of his backpack sitting on the floor between his feet. He’d get up and move, but there’s literally nowhere else he could go. There’s still twenty minutes before his stop and he just prays that at least half of the passengers will depart before then, though he doubts it, since most of them look to be university students just like him. 

He’s on the verge of pulling out his earbuds to try to help the time pass when it happens: a few people get off the tram at Tinghuset, and the seats they’d occupied are filled too quickly for Isak to grab one because he’s completely distracted by the sight of him. Someone had been standing directly in front of him before, blocking him from Isak’s line of sight. He’s blond and full-lipped and has a face practically carved from marble, and his bright blue eyes are catching the sunlight as he gazes out the window. He’s absolutely stunning. Isak forgets to breathe, forgets that he’s surrounded by grumpy commuters and just stares unabashedly, because how can he _not?_

A good three or four minutes pass before someone near him coughs and Isak blinks rapidly, brought back to earth. By now they’re at Frydenlund and nearly halfway there. He glances back over at the blond guy, who is still staring fixedly out the window. Isak takes stock of him - corner of a laptop poking out of the top of his backpack, denim jacket, earbuds hanging out of the front of his shirt. He’s clearly a student, which means he’ll almost certainly get off at the Blindern stop just like Isak. And that’s as far as Isak will allow himself to go, because the guy can obviously feel him staring and looks in Isak’s direction - Isak manages to shift his eyes away just in time, or at least he hopes. He busies himself with pulling out his headphones for real this time, determined not to look at him again. 

(They both get off at Blindern, along with nearly everyone else on the tram, and Isak loses him in the crowd. Oh well.)

How many random people do we encounter on a daily basis, and how many of them actually stick in our minds? For Isak, at least, the answer is close to zero, but this guy is an exception. His thoughts turn to him several times over the next few days, for no good reason at all except to enjoy the memory of seeing a person so handsome before eight in the morning. On Friday as he’s waiting for the tram, he’s wondering vaguely if he might see him again next Tuesday... and then the tram arrives, and Isak almost trips over his own feet when he sees the blond guy sitting in the exact same seat as before. 

Once again, it’s impossible to keep from staring at him. He’s holding a cup of coffee today and his earbuds are in, and occasionally he’ll mouth along with the lyrics, which immediately makes Isak curious what he’s listening to since he can’t read his lips. And once again, he clearly feels Isak’s eyes on him after a few minutes, but Isak doesn’t immediately look away this time. He doesn’t know why. The guy gives him a brief smile that’s friendly enough, but Isak isn’t quite up to returning it. 

He’s back on Tuesday, and again on that Friday. Both days, he’s got a small notebook on his lap and appears to be sketching in it. Tuesday there’s coffee as well, but on Friday it’s just the book. And both days, he smiles at Isak, who manages to smile back.

The Tuesday after that, Isak thinks it’s safe to assume this will be a regular thing. Their class schedules clearly intersect on these two mornings; he’s been able to deduce by now that the guy is heading for the Humanities building when he gets off the tram. Is he an art student? Music? Or does he just have a single class there, like Isak and his psychology lecture? Isak doesn’t spend most of his time on that part of the campus, of course - he’s usually down in the Science department. Honestly, he would have dropped the fucking psych course by now if not for these tram rides, which is kind of a tough pill to swallow, but it’s the truth. 

But it’s not like he’s not _obsessed_ with this mystery guy or anything. He’s not daydreaming during those Tuesday and Friday lectures about what his voice sounds like, or picturing the way his eyes crinkle up when he gives Isak those charming smiles. Nor is he thinking about how despite the guy being only a little taller than Isak himself, he kind of wants to climb him like a fucking tree. Of course not. No, he’s going to parties every weekend and not shying away when other men flirt with him and absolutely _definitely_ not wondering if, on the off chance, the guy might happen to show up at one of them like a knight in shining armor. That’s just stupid.

————

He’s sketching yet again this morning. No coffee, earbuds in. Sunglasses hooked into the front of his shirt. Gorgeous as usual.

Isak’s going to talk to him today, dammit. 

At the Bislett stop, he gets his chance. The woman sitting next to him gets off the tram (Isak had seen her gathering her things and had followed suit, ready to pounce) and he manages to squeeze in beside him before anyone getting on can take it first. The guy glances up in surprise and quickly closes his sketchbook, and he gives Isak a small, questioning smile as he pulls out one earbud. 

“The guy I was next to smells awful,” Isak says quietly, recalling the first morning he’d seen him. “Had to move.”

The tentative smile instantly becomes a grin. “No problem.”

His mind goes blank then; he really should have thought this through. He could ask something lame like _what are you listening to?_ but then he’d want to fling himself out of the tram doors at the very next stop, because _fuck._ So he just gives a brief little nod and turns his head to stare in the opposite direction. After a couple of agonizing minutes he dares to glance back over - da Vinci has resumed his drawing, both earbuds back in. So... that’s that.

On Friday the coffee has reappeared and the sketchbook is nowhere in sight. Isak is trying to determine a pattern, but it’s pointless. And it’s so idiotic that he has entire lists of questions and silly opening statements and vaguely flirtatious comments in his head that he’s constantly editing and adding to on days that _aren’t_ Tuesday or Friday, but once he’s actually faced with da Vinci (for lack of a better way to reference him that isn’t That Hot Blond Guy Who’s Keeping Me From Dropping Psych) he completely clams up. It’s not rocket science. It’s a 24-minute commute, nearly five full hours of shared company by this point that Isak has entirely wasted. They could know each other’s deepest darkest secrets by now, for fuck’s sake. Or at the very least, each other’s _names._

Isak has his forehead pressed to the cool window and is staring mournfully out at the city flashing past when he catches a glimpse of blond hair and a familiar denim jacket, and realizes the vacant seat next to him has been filled by none other than da Vinci himself. He’d been sitting in his usual seat when Isak got on the tram, so he’s... moved. To sit next to Isak. Okay.

“Hi,” da Vinci says smoothly. “The lady next to me was wearing too much perfume.”

Isak’s smile is automatic, but quite genuine. “The nerve.”

“Right? You're on public transport. Think of other people for fuck’s sake.”

Shit, his voice is incredible. Deep and melodic, and somehow calming in spite of how it's making Isak's belly twist into a bow. “Yeah,” he manages to say, and then nothing else comes out. Zero. Lists? What lists? He might as well not even speak the same language as this guy.

“Hey, what were you listening to the other day?” da Vinci asks, nudging Isak’s arm as if they’ve been friends for years and casual touching is completely normal for them. “You seemed pretty into it.”

He comes close to panic as he wracks his brain, so startled by being asked an actual question by _this actual person_ that he can hardly remember his own name. “Oh!” Isak blurts out at last, after he’s screwed up his whole face and probably looked utterly idiotic. “Frank Ocean.” 

“First album or second?”

Impressive. Isak actually relaxes a little, even achieves a small smile. “Second. It’s genius.”

“Agreed. I haven’t spun that one in a little while, thanks for the reminder.”

See, it would be so easy to keep the conversation going. So fucking easy. They could branch off of this into a hundred different segues because, somehow, coming from _him_ such a generic bit of small talk hadn’t been lame at all. But of course, something just has to ruin it: at Stensgata a guy and girl board the tram, the two of them arguing quite loudly, especially for this time of day. It’s clearly a domestic issue, probably left over from the night before, and the atmosphere on the tram is instantly uncomfortable. Any and all conversation stops because it’s not possible to hear over the two of them. Isak half-expects some brave soul to tell them to just shut the fuck up already, but every single passenger just sits there meekly, looking anywhere else. 

Suddenly, da Vinci’s voice is directly in his ear, low and mildly amused and entirely erotic. “They should join up with perfume lady and form a club.”

“Right?” Isak murmurs back, all he can muster due to the shivers racing up and down his spine from such an intimate intrusion. Right against his fucking _ear._ He catches da Vinci throwing the fighting couple a nasty glance, but he doesn’t speak up, either. 

They keep arguing right up until the Blindern stop; just about everyone stays in their seats until the two of them have left the tram, still yelling at each other, and then they all have to scramble to depart in time. Once again, Isak loses da Vinci in the rush, and he hitches his backpack onto his shoulders with a deep sigh. _Maybe next time,_ he thinks, and then he wants to laugh bitterly at himself, because that’s what he _always_ says.

————

Pathetic. That’s what he is. So pathetic, in fact, that on the following Tuesday morning he actually sits there with his coffee brooding over what he could possibly do to move this thing forward even the tiniest bit... brooding for so long that the time slips away from him and he suddenly realizes he’s going to _miss the fucking tram._

Isak has to sprint the whole way to the tram stop — it doesn’t even occur to him that climbing on board sweaty and out of breath isn’t exactly going to make him appear attractive. All he cares about is _getting there._

He just makes it. Everyone else has already gotten on, but the driver sees him running and waits, thankfully. Isak hurtles on board, silently cursing both at himself and at the fact that he’s too late to get a seat, so he stays standing and clutches the nearest pole to catch his breath as the tram takes off. 

He’s so disoriented that it actually takes him a minute to remember the reason he’d raced to catch this particular tram in the first place, because it sure as hell hadn’t been because missing his psych lecture would be the end of the world. And it takes him another few seconds to realize that, as luck would have it, he’s ended up standing right beside da Vinci’s usual seat, and da Vinci himself. 

When Isak glances down at him, he sees him already staring up at Isak and smiling. “Late, huh?”

God. _Obviously._ Isak fakes a little laugh. “Roommate too took long in the shower,” he replies, a little too brightly. 

“Do you want my seat?”

Isak immediately frowns, because da Vinci has the trifecta going today: sketchbook, coffee, _and_ earbuds. He could listen to his music just fine while standing, of course, but one of the other two would have to be sacrificed. And anyway, is Isak some frail old lady to him or something? “No, it’s okay,” he says, shaking his head and giving him a small smile. “Thanks, though.”

“Or you could sit on my lap,” da Vinci says then, in a completely deadpan voice that nearly makes Isak’s hand slip right off the pole. They just stare at each other for what feels like a thousand seconds before Isak finally blinks, and da Vinci starts to laugh. “No? Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” But he’s so not, that’s the thing.

Getting over _that_ anytime soon will be a monumental feat, so Isak tries to distract himself by slipping his backpack off his shoulders to make sure he remembered to grab everything in his haste this morning. He’s still rummaging through it when the tram makes its next stop, and consequently he’s not holding onto the pole anymore. So it’s inevitable, really. A perfect storm of just the right combination of circumstances to make what happens, happen.

Another late passenger races through the tram doors just in time before they close behind him, and in his haste to get settled before it takes off again, he bumps hard into Isak’s shoulder. Isak is vaguely aware of a half-hearted apology, but it’s the least of his worries at this particular second, because he’s knocked totally off-balance, pitching all the way forward and right into da Vinci’s lap. 

The contents of his backpack spill everywhere, and coincidentally, so do the contents of da Vinci’s, since it’s open at his feet and Isak’s heavy psychology book lands in exactly the right way to tip it over. Just about the only thing that doesn’t go flying is the coffee, and thank goodness for that.

The next few moments are a blur of cursing and repeated asks of _’are you okay’_ from both of them and apologies and Isak’s flaming-red face and his stumbling, flailing limbs as he tries to right himself. Both of them drop to the floor at the same time to start gathering up their stuff, which is strewn halfway through the tram car at this point. Various other passengers politely hand items down to them, and Isak’s already messy collection of notes and books is now so chaotic that it’ll take him forever to sort it all out.

“I’m so sorry, again,” he says for probably the tenth time, and is once again met with soothing reassurance.

“I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”

Oh, Isak’s better than okay. He’d just literally toppled into the lap of the handsome, kindly stranger. Embarrassing as hell, sure, but _holy shit._

At last, they seem to have all of their belongings back in their respective bags. Isak, still blushing, mumbles thanks to everyone around them who’d helped and then smiles weakly at da Vinci. “I think you conjured that somehow. By offering up your lap before.”

“Damn, you figured it out. I’m actually a wizard.”

Isak almost snorts, now hoisting his bag onto his back again. “You couldn’t have just created an extra seat out of thin air instead? No, you had to go and be a dramatic fucker.”

Laughing, da Vinci nods. “Exactly. Why bother doing anything if you can’t see it happening in a movie?” He studies Isak for a second, and then holds out his right hand to be shaken. “It’s about time we introduced ourselves, I think. I’m Even.”

Isak’s not sure if he’s more touched or startled, but he shakes da Vi— _Even’s_ hand at once, grinning. “Isak.”

“Finally. A name for that face.” There’s something about the way Even says the last two words that releases butterflies in Isak’s stomach, and he ducks his head shyly. Just when his blush had been starting to fade, too.

Luckily (or is it? Isak’s never quite sure later on), all the clean-up had taken so much time that the Blindern stop is nearly upon them, so Isak just clears his throat and gives Even a decisive little nod. “Even. Thanks, and sorry, again.”

“For the last time,” Even replies, standing up as the tram glides to a stop. “Don’t worry about it. But let this be a lesson the next time I offer you a seat.”

Isak’s mouth is already on its way to dropping open a little, but then Even _winks_ at him and yeah, he’s a goner. Even slips past him with a warm smile, stepping off the tram while Isak is still standing there gazing after him, breathless. 

Thank fuck he’d made it to the tram in time.

He walks to his lecture in a fog of disbelief and finds a seat near the back, as usual. He knows that if he lets himself he’ll literally replay the entire encounter all day and not get a single productive thing done, so he decides to use this hour to start straightening out his messy bag. There’s a test in one of his afternoon biology classes today so at the very least he needs to make sure all of his notes and stuff for it are in some sort of vague order.

While the psych professor drones on, Isak opens his backpack and makes a face at the jumble inside. With a small sigh, he reaches in, intending to just pull out handfuls of paper, but his fingers close around a small, unfamiliar object instead. He peeks back into the bag, frowning, and pulls out a slim notebook that’s either been in there for so long he’s completely forgotten about it or... isn’t his at all. 

As soon as he thumbs the notebook open, it’s clear. Not his. Even’s. Even’s _sketchbook._

He’s been so curious about it but hasn’t dared to ask or even try to steal a look when Even’s drawing. So it’s impossible to resist glancing through a few of its pages. Even’s style seems to be sketching random objects and odd little creatures and symbols (Isak stares particularly hard at what seems to be an Eye of Providence surrounded by a halo of dicks). He only turns three or four pages before snapping the book shut again with a firm shake of his head. This is private, Even’s private notebook, and it’s wrong to look at its contents. Sure, it could give him great insight into the man he’d had such a weird little crush on for weeks now, but still. How would Isak feel if something personal of his had ended up in Even’s bag this morning and Even went through it? 

Pressing his lips together, Isak slips the sketchbook into the front pocket of his backpack to keep it out of the way, and goes back to his original plan of organizing his own things. Each time his mind strays to the book (which is roughly every 30 seconds) he tells himself to leave it alone, and he’s, well, mostly successful. He only peeks at a couple more pages. No more than six or seven total. Or maybe ten. But that’s _it._

He honestly worries that he won’t be able to resist the temptation to pore through the whole thing over the next couple of days, but he manages it. He just keeps it in the front pocket of his bag so he always knows where it is, and that it’ll be safe until he sees Even again.

On Friday morning he considers taking the notebook out so he’ll have it ready to return to Even when he gets on the tram, but decides against it because he probably wouldn’t be able to keep from looking at it if it’s actually in his hands. And he wouldn’t want to run the risk of Even seeing that. 

Heart pounding, he climbs on board and his eyes go right to Even, who’s already smiling at him and nodding toward the empty seat next to him. Isak slides into it, returning the smile as best he can, and utters a soft ‘good morning’ before saying, “I have your sketchbook. It ended up mixed in with my stuff the other day, sorry.” He goes for the front pocket of his backpack, or starts to, anyway, because Even’s reaction isn’t quite what he’d expected. He looks _scared,_ his eyes widening and his mouth dropping open a little. “I kept it safe for you, don’t worry,” Isak continues, carefully pulling the book out and handing it over.

Even takes it with slightly shaking hands, running his fingers over its cover. “Thank you,” he says quietly, not looking at Isak. “Did you—” His voice cracks a little and he clears his throat. “Did you look at it?”

He’s still not meeting Isak’s eyes, which tells Isak that he was definitely right to not go through the entire book. “A little, yeah, sorry,” he admits. Even looks up at him again, his expression still fearful, so Isak gives him a small smile. “I kind of had to, to see what it was, and then I got a little sucked in. Just a few pages though, I promise.” This doesn’t seem to reassure Even at all, so he adds, “They’re really good. Are you an art student?”

Even blinks hard, shaking his head a little as if to clear it, and says slowly, “No, media. You think they’re good?”

“Yeah! I mean, I don’t have a creative bone in my body so I don’t know how great a judge I am, but I liked them.”

“Thank you,” Even replies, his voice softer now, and he glances back down at the sketchbook, thumbing the edges of its pages. “And shit, thank you for giving it back. I was so freaked out when I couldn’t find it.” He chuckles then, looking at Isak again. “I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that it probably ended up in your bag.”

He doesn’t know what possesses him to say it. Seeing Even vulnerable, maybe? Realizing that he’s apparently _not_ this coolly untouchable dude who’s way out of Isak’s league? Or perhaps another stab at making Even feel better, although it might just backfire on him. At any rate, the words are coming out of Isak’s mouth before he fully realizes it. 

“Well you know, if I’d had your number, I could have texted you that I had it, and you wouldn’t have needed to worry.”

His heart is _racing_ and he’s positive that his face is beet-red, but now that this is out there, he’s not going to back down from it. He’s giving Even a tiny smirk and is keeping their eyes locked, and when Even breaks into a wide grin, Isak knows he’s scored major points. “Nice one,” Even murmurs, nodding slightly, and then he holds out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

Isak smiles, letting their fingers brush together as he hands it over, and again when Even gives him his own phone. Once their respective numbers have been added, Isak lets out an accomplished little sigh and asks, “So you said media? Like film, or...?”

“Yeah. I’m going to be a director someday.” Even holds his head up proudly, his confident smile making Isak’s heart skip another beat or two. 

“Oh okay. ‘Why do anything if you can’t see it happening in a movie?’” he says, repeating Even’s statement from the other day with a laugh. “It all makes sense now.”

“Exactly. This class I’m going to now is super boring, though. Want to skip it with me, go get coffee?”

Isak’s so startled by the offer that he can’t even speak for a few seconds, which prompts Even to add, “Sorry, if you need to go to yours that’s totally fine, I get it—”

“I don’t,” Isak cuts in, shaking his head. “I really, really don’t. Yeah, coffee.”

“Okay.” Even’s smiling at him again, _beaming,_ actually, and Isak has to force himself not to melt. “See, I would have brought you coffee one morning, or like, every morning, but I don’t know what you like and I didn’t know how to ask you without being obvious. I thought about pretending like I was taking a random poll, but that’s dumb.”

“Oh, so you’re buying today, then? To make up for all these weeks of holding out on me?” 

“Of course I am. I asked you, and this is a date, so. Rules are rules.”

Isak has to bite his lip to keep from fucking _screeching._ A date. Well, it’s official now. “I’ll pay next time,” he says shyly, but judging from the way Even’s smile grows even wider, there’s no need for him to be apprehensive about there being a next time. 

————

“Babe?”

Isak is almost asleep, but he hums softly and half-opens one eye. “Yeah?”

“Remember that day you fell in my lap?”

“No, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Remind me.” Of course he remembers. It had been nearly six weeks ago, 39 days to be exact, and a total of 81 days ago that he’d first seen Even on the tram, but who’s counting? Not Isak, nope. He snuggles deeper into Even’s arms, snickering, and mumbles, “What about it?”

Even starts stroking his back, his fingertips warm and soothing as always, and Isak’s eye flutters shut again automatically. He can’t ever resist when Even does that. “Okay, a couple days later. When you gave my sketchbook back,” Even goes on, and Isak hums again. “I think it’s safe to tell you now that the reason I was so nervous was because I was worried you’d seen the drawings I’d done of you in it.”

Isak’s eyes both pop open at that and he leans up on one elbow, staring down at Even. Even is blinking up at him apprehensively, his lips pressed tightly together. “You drew me?” Isak asks quietly, awed, and Even nods. “Back then?”

“Yeah,” Even whispers. “I think I did the first one about a week after we first saw each other? I couldn’t help it, you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I had to.”

Isak is grateful for the low light in his bedroom right now, because he’s blushing like crazy. “Then why would it make you nervous that I’d seen it?”

“Because! Wouldn’t you have thought it was kind of creepy and weird?”

“No,” Isak says at once, laying a hand on Even’s bare chest and leaning close enough to him for their noses to touch. He brushes his lips lightly over Even’s, something that comes as naturally as breathing by now, and caresses Even’s skin with his thumb. “I would have been so fucking _flattered,_ come on.”

“Yeah?” Even smiles slowly. “I think I’d done three drawings of you by then. No, four. Or three. I’d have to check.”

“Can I see them?”

“They’re not very good.”

“Liar.”

“No, like... I know you now, so I can capture you better. Those first ones weren’t really you. They were an idea of you.”

“I still want to see them, though!”

“Okay, okay! In the morning. I’m too comfortable to get out of bed.”

“Okay, deal.” Isak sighs happily. “And seriously, it wouldn’t have been weird. And I mean, if I’d known earlier that you were drawing me, I would have asked you out way sooner.”

“I’ll know better in the next universe, then,” Even whispers, and slides a hand into Isak’s hair, pulling him closer for a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](dahlstrom.tumblr.com)!


End file.
